Chapter 23
TWENTY-THREE
Days passed; Arcanthus spent as much of that time with Samantha as he could without neglecting his work. With her tablet in hand, she was often a silent presence in his workshop, her stylus never seeming to still as he alternated between the few identification chips he was under agreement to complete and the far more daunting task of locating Vaund.
He’d been mistaken to think she’d be too much of a distraction. Granted, his eyes strayed to her frequently, and he found himself stopping at least twice a day to have his way with her on one of the couches—or on the desk, the floor, and even once in the enveloping white glow of the body scanner platform—but he found her presence more grounding than anything.
She was often the only thing keeping him from sinking into despair as his repeated searches turned up nothing.
Samantha continued to spend time with the members of the security team, as well—watching shows, playing games, and training. Arcanthus accepted it; she always came back to him. Besides, he couldn’t expect her to remain in the workshop for as long as he did. Its walls could eventually drive anyone mad .
Once he completed the ID chips, he turned all his focus to the search. Samantha didn’t question his long hours of work. She talked to him about anything, about everything, when he needed a distraction from his mounting frustration, and was always drawing. She never complained when he crawled into bed hours after she’d retired—especially not when he woke her with his fingers or tongue.
Though she didn’t share all her drawings with him, she shared many, and her confidence and skill grew by the hour. Her loose sketches—many of them depicting Arcanthus—gradually increased in detail and improved in form, and he adored the look of concentration that often fell across her face while she drew, especially when her tongue slipped out to press against her upper lip. It was clear to him that she loved art, and equally clear that she’d not created much of it over the last few years.
When she showed him a colored drawing of a creature she called Mister Wiggles—which had apparently been a tiny cat her grandmother had kept as a pet—Arcanthus grinned. He’d never seen such an animal before, but its resemblance to Drakkal was immediately apparent; its fur had the same coloration and nearly identical patterns, and its facial features were even reminiscent of an azhera’s.
She was trepidatious at first, but Arcanthus convinced her to share the image with Drakkal.
Samantha held her tablet up to the azhera and said, “This was my grandmother’s cat, Mister Wiggles. You reminded me of him the first time we met.”
Drakkal’s brows fell low, and he looked slowly from the image to Samantha.
“Um…cats are little animals from Earth that are often kept as pets,” Sam said, “and…well… ”
Arcanthus pressed his lips together and covered his mouth with a hand, holding back his laughter.
“I remind you of a tiny, domesticated animal?” Drakkal asked in a low voice.
“Yes.” Her eyes rounded, and she hurried to add, “I mean…your fur and your coloration do. Obviously, you’re not tiny, and you’re not an animal.” Samantha licked her lips. “He was really fond of cuddling, and he was really affectionate…and I think you probably are too, even if you don’t show it.”
Now Drakkal’s brows rose.
Sam dropped her gaze to the floor. “Anyway, Arc wanted me to show you. You remind me of Mister Wiggles, and, well, that makes me think of my grandmother, and home…and its always kind of comforting to see you. It helps me…helps me feel at home.”
A slight frown tugging down the corners of his mouth, Drakkal looked down at the image again. He was silent for several seconds before he said gruffly, “This is good, terran. You’re good. Would you…send this to me? I would like a copy.”
When she lifted her head, Samantha’s eyes were huge and bright. She nodded enthusiastically. All the way back to the bedroom, she wore a big grin, and couldn’t stop talking about how happy she was that Drakkal had liked it.
Arcanthus encouraged her to keep pushing, to keep practicing, to bring her imagination to life; she had such potential, and Arcanthus couldn’t stand knowing that it might’ve been snuffed out completely.
It was on the seventh morning after he’d gifted her the tablet that Arc learned the true depth of her talent and passion.
He woke to find Samantha sitting up, naked, with her knees raised and her tablet settled over them. She glanced up from her work briefly to smile at him. It took him a few minutes of gentle coaxing to get her to share what she was working on .
“It’s not completely done yet,” she said, cheeks flushing, “but you can have a peek.”
Drawing her legs closer to her chest, she turned the tablet toward him.
He wasn’t sure what to say as he looked over the image; her statement about it being incomplete didn’t at all match what he saw. There was no question of the subject—he was looking at himself, sprawled out on the bed with his hair splayed across the sheet, naked save for the crimson swathe of blanket draped over his groin.
He might’ve mistaken it for a photo were it not for the slightly more saturated colors. The work represented a masterful understanding of color and lighting and contained surprising subtleties—the soft blue glow from walls outside the frame reflecting on his arms, legs, and horns; the realistic folds in the fabric of the blanket; the barely perceptible texture on his skin.
There was no telling how long he stared at it before she pulled the tablet back into her lap.
She said in a small, soft voice, “I know it’s not very good, and it needs a lot of—”
Arcanthus hushed her by pressing a finger to her lips. “Your drawings have been good, Samantha, but this …this is something else entirely. It’s amazing. If this is your starting point, I can’t even imagine how stunning your art will be in a year’s time.”
As only seemed natural, she set the tablet aside, and they made love again, the crimson blanket depicted in her painting tangling between their intertwined bodies. Afterward, they showered, dressed, and left the bedroom to eat. They went to the workshop once they were done, where Samantha settled atop one of the couches and Arcanthus resumed his tedious search .
Hours must’ve passed by the time Samantha stood up, yawned and stretched, and told him she was going to see if Sekk’thi was up for some more training. She kissed him and departed; it took a significant amount of willpower to remain in his chair and continue working.
Arcanthus’s frustrations intensified as the day wore on. Simply knowing Samantha was elsewhere in the compound, out of sight but relatively close, eased his darkening mood, but could not curtail it. He reminded himself frequently that succumbing to his irritation would only make everything more difficult. When Drakkal entered the workshop that evening, Arcanthus found himself grateful for the interruption.
“Any luck?” Drakkal asked as he sat against the edge of the desk and folded his arms across his chest.
With a heavy sigh, Arcanthus angled his chair more toward the azhera, kicked his feet up on the desk, and clasped his hands over his sternum. “Nothing.”
“Nothing from our usual informants, either—not that it’s easy to get anyone to give up information on the Syndicate. Trying to expand our network, but it’s slow going.”
“As it should be. The wrong question to the wrong person could bring some very unwanted attention our way.”
Drakkal grunted. “Definitely don’t need any more of that, do we?”
Arcanthus looked toward the displays on the desk, staring at the nothingness between them. “He’s like a damned ghost, Drak. There’s nothing on him less than ten years old, and all that does come up is just promotional material from gladiatorial bouts he was in back on Caldorius. You’d think he died in that attack.”
“Guess he learned more from you than we thought, Arc.”
“Why couldn’t he learn the right lessons?”
“Because right and wrong isn’t universal, and what we thought was right was also dangerous. We were doomed from the start. I don’t regret any of it, but I can understand why so many good fighters turned us down.”
Squeezing his fingers together, Arcanthus shook his head. “He’s not perfect. He’s ambitious, cold-blooded, cunning, and calculating, but he’s not perfect. He’s made a mistake somewhere, overlooked something… I just have to find it.”
“Remember, Arc—you’re not perfect either. None of us are.”
Arcanthus turned his head to find Drakkal frowning at him, green eyes dark and troubled. “Speak for yourself, azhera.”
Drakkal shook his head, though one corner of his mouth lifted in a begrudging smile. “How long have you been at this today, sedhi?”
Arcanthus shrugged. “A few hours.”
“Samantha came out of here at least five or six hours ago, and I know you were in here for a while before she left.”
“What’s your point? If I don’t keep looking, I’m not going to find anything . I can’t just remain idle knowing he’s out there.” Arcanthus lowered his feet and sat forward, throwing his hands out to the sides. “If he finds us first, he’s going to bring the fight to our home, and everyone—not just Samantha, but everyone —is in danger. It’s not like he’s going to knock on the door and wait patiently outside until I go fight him one-on-one.”
“Yeah, you’re right,” Drakkal growled, angling his chin down and lowering his brows. “But what good will you be if you run yourself ragged? That’ll hamper your search and make you worth shit in a fight.”
“I’m a dangerous fighter whether or not I’m tired.”
“So is Vaund. And we don’t know how much better he’s become after all this time.”
“All the more reason to keep looking! If we find him first, we can make sure the fight is on our terms, that every available advantage is ours.”
Drakkal grunted and glanced up at the ceiling, scratching his cheek. “ Kraasz ka’val , Arc, I’m not telling you to give up, just to take a damned break.”
Arcanthus clenched his jaw and looked away. “I’m sorry.”
“What was that? Don’t think I heard you right.”
“I’m sorry, Drakkal! Did you hear me that time, or are your ears too clogged with fur?”
“Oh, I heard. Not much surprises me these days, but you’ve sure made a habit of it since you found Sam.”
Though he knew he’d changed because of Samantha, Arcanthus had no way of identifying those changes. Perhaps the word change was, itself, the wrong term. He didn’t necessarily feel changed, but rather more —more himself now than at any other time in his life. As he’d been helping Sam bring her true self to the surface, she’d been doing the same for him. She’d been drawing out what was inside him all along.
For the first time in a long, long while, he was happy. Not just stimulated, not just entertained, but happy . She’d battered down the barriers around his heart and calmed the darkness at its core.
“She inspires me to be my best,” Arcanthus said, looking at Drakkal again. “Samantha is the only person I’ve met who shakes my confidence in the best ways, because she shows me I can always do better, can always strive for more.”
Drakkal held Arc’s gaze, seemingly in search of something. “Well, Samantha is in the lounge right now, probably going head-to-head with Razi in Conquerors. The two of them have been going back and forth beating each other all week. You should head over there with me. We can throw together some food, have a drink, and lose some credits.”
Arcanthus had known and trusted his core security team for years, and, even if he wasn’t as close to any of them as he was to Drakkal, he’d always enjoyed their company. It reminded him of his days on Caldorius, when, even during one of the darkest periods of his life, he’d found unexpected camaraderie with many other gladiators—even some of those he’d fought, like Drakkal. A little time with Samantha and the others could help alleviate some of the stress he’d accumulated lately.
“All right, Drakkal. Let me get a few autosearch and decryption programs up and going so the system keeps searching on its own. I’ll catch up with you.”
Drakkal nodded, dropped his hands, and pushed away from the desk. “Good. Don’t take too long. If I have to come in here again, I’m going to drag you out by your braids.”
Arcanthus leaned back in his chair. “Hmm… I do enjoy having my hair pulled, but I imagine you’re a bit rough even for my tastes.”
“You have ten minutes, sedhi. Get your ass down there or I’ll give you to the Syndicate myself.”
“Don’t tease me with a good time, azhera.”
Drakkal exited the chamber; had the door been of the old-fashioned, hinged variety, Arcanthus was sure the azhera would’ve slammed it behind him just for the sake of being irritating.
Raking his fingers through his hair to sweep it back between his horns, Arcanthus returned his attention to the screens on his desk. Even now, he was tempted to delve back into work, to bury himself in it, to keep trying either until he found Vaund, or he began bleeding from his eyes. For the first time, he regretted being so hasty in killing Straek; though the chances of it had been slim, the groalthuun might’ve eventually led Arcanthus to Vaund .
All this not knowing is driving me mad. Where is he? How much does he know?
No, forget Vaund for now… I need to see Samantha.
That easily, his thoughts turned to his mate, and he was grateful for it. He needed to see her smile and hear her laugh to remind him what was important. Needed to hold her to replenish his stores of hope.
His fingers moved almost of their own accord, pulling up the automated programs he already had running, along with a few others he’d not yet activated. He altered existing parameters and defined new ones, tweaking everything slightly, and set the programs to work one by one. He expected nothing to come of it—Vaund didn’t exist in the Consortium registry as far as Arcanthus could tell, and the nature of his cybernetic prosthesis meant he would be exceedingly difficult to trace via facial recognition even if Arcanthus knew what it looked like.
Vaund’s face was an interchangeable cybernetic helmet that could’ve been altered a thousand times over the years.
Arcanthus paused.
He didn’t know what Vaund currently looked like, but he had detailed images of Straek. There had to be somewhere Straek had gone regularly to meet with his boss—and he would’ve been recorded frequently on his way.
Drakkal’s ten-minute deadline had likely expired, and Arc was eager to see Sam, but this was an angle he couldn’t ignore. How had he overlooked it up until now?
It could take days for the system to pour over the countless surveillance feeds blanketing the city in search of Straek; the sooner begun, the better. Bringing up the proper program, Arcanthus fed in as much data as was readily available—including every image of Straek he and his people had obtained—and initiated the search.
“Can’t hide for much longer,” he said, smirking .
He pushed up from his chair and left the workshop with a new lightness in his stride. It was premature for celebration, but he’d finally recognized a lead with a strong possibility of producing results. That was more success than he’d had during the entirety of this search.
When he reached the first intersecting corridor, he paused. One way would lead eventually to the lounge, the other more directly to his bedchamber. He glanced down at his robe and frowned; he’d been sitting in it all day and felt dirty. What would another ten minutes matter when he was already late? He’d rather face Drakkal’s inevitable admonishment while freshly cleaned and clothed.
He’d rather face Samantha while freshly cleaned and clothed; only the best for his mate.
He hurried to his bedchamber, stripped, and bathed. He selected a crimson loincloth when he was done—one that matched the color of the fabric draped over his pelvis in Sam’s painting—and had just opened his closet when the bedroom’s lights switched to pulsing orange and yellow, accompanied by a high, whining alarm.
The excitement that had been fluttering in his stomach petrified and sank, coalescing into a lump of dread.
He pulled up his holocom control screen and tapped the flashing alert. It split into several surveillance feeds from around the compound. Armed individuals were at several of the outside entrances, overwhelming the door guards with speed and firepower.
Arcanthus watched as several members of his security crew were gunned down in the alleyways they’d been posted in, their bodies collapsing in unidentifiable puddles and filth. He curled his left hand into a fist while the attackers rushed to the entry doors and placed explosive charges.
Not yet. Can’t be this soon. Can’t be here .
The ice in his blood turned to fire when he shifted his attention to the main-level entrance—the only entrance that didn’t let out onto the street two floors below—and saw a tall, slender figure clad in black striding along the path opened by the attacking gunmen. Arcanthus knew who it was just by the way he moved.
Vaund .
Simultaneous explosions at several doors filled the corresponding feeds with static; he heard their roars echo distantly through the corridors outside his room.
Arcanthus’s heart skipped a beat when he realized that Samantha, his sweet, precious little flower, was in the lounge—nearly on the opposite end of the compound from him, but only twenty meters away from the main entrance.
Only twenty meters away from Vaund and the Syndicate.